Baptized by fire, enslaved by wonder and impulse, I continue to evolve in what begins my fifth decade. Aging gay party-boy or wizened-by-life-experiences counselor? Probably a little of both. This blog is a perpetual migration of the former to an expanded version of the latter.
I won't even pretend to be anything of a birder, because I'm not. I know the basic garden variety songbirds and what not, and by default I will figure out a bird if it's, say, flying into my bedroom window for 3 days straight Summer Tanager circa 1991 (and you know you did that at a time in my life when I could've easily been convinced it was "The Birds" and you were coming to cut me ... don't think I don't remember), but I got all excited after my summer of hummingbird success and some influence from my cousin who is a much more accomplished birder. Mostly because I saw a really vivid American Goldfinch at her property this summer and, per norm, was consumed by his bling. I love me some color but thought my life in the South was pretty much relegated to blue jays, cardinals, and maybe Eastern bluebirds.
And so I got all giddy at the prospect of a Goldfinch when she said, "Fool, they all over the place, put a ring on it, some seeds out" and, lo and behold, two days ago I looked out the window at work and there, getting its seed on, was a goldfinch! (Aside: does the word "Goldfinch" make you start singing songs by Goldfrapp? "I need a oooh lalalala ..." Yeah, me too.) Right now they're in winter plumage (who isn't?) but it's my deepest bird hope that they stick around for summer when they're, rockin' the VVS stones in full plumage.
I think I know what book I'm going to get the next time I hit up Barnes & Noble: a birding guide to keep at my desk.